


Reparations

by Haengbog



Category: Big Bang (Band)
Genre: Accident, Drama, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Love, blah blah blah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-07-20 18:18:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16142828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haengbog/pseuds/Haengbog
Summary: Jiyong fucked up, bad, and he needs to fix it.Reparationsnoun   1.  the making of amends for wrong or injury done:





	1. Chapter 1

Kyoto, Japan 2015

 

           The dancers kept to their huddle, stretching and kicking their legs occasionally to keep their limbs warm. Because it was sound check and rehearsal they had to stay close to the stage area, even though they weren't doing anything. The waiting was always the worst part.

At center stage, they could see the concert director drawing diagrams on a clipboard and talking to the present Big Bang members about changes that had to be made to accommodate the stage size. Their leader was noticeably absent.

           Bored nearly to tears, Sarang nudged the dancer next to her and nodded towards the side of the stage. The other dancer nodded that she understood and Sarang walked quietly away. She rolled her neck and stretched her shoulders as she opened the creaking exit door, stepping into the sunshine. She sat on the edge of the loading dock, partially hidden by a pillar. While scanning through her Twitter feed and laughing at some of the memes, she heard a car screech to a halt and doors slam. She ignored it. There was a scuffling of feet that sort of captured her attention, but she didn't look up. Then, from the other side of the pillar, she heard yelling that she couldn’t ignore. It was partially in Japanese, some words were in Korean, but mostly the voices spoke in English.

           “ . . . Not what I said!”

           “Kumanhe! I don't want to fight!”

   “If you don’t want to fight, why do you keep bringing it up?!”

           That peaked Sarang's interest, but she knew whatever was happening on the other side of that pillar was none of her damn business. Hearing that their voices were getting louder and closer and that she was understanding more and more of what the fight was about, she knew it was time to go. She hastily stood to go back inside. At the door, she fumbled with the sticking latch and dropped her phone. She reached down to get it and looked over to see the absent leader and his model girlfriend looking back at her.

           “I was already out here,” she told them with her hands up as if she had been caught. She pulled and pulled until the door opened at last, bowed slightly in their direction and ran inside.

            “What took you so long?” one of the Kwon twins asked when she got back to the stage.

           “I stepped out for some air and the door got stuck. Sorry.”

           “Is that all that happened?” he asked with his eyebrow raised, looking over her shoulder to see Jiyong standing there; seething.

           “That's all,” she answered as she moved to her spot. All of the dancers knew very well what wasn’t their business and to never speak, even among themselves, about things they saw in passing.

           Standing in formation under the lights, Sarang couldn’t stop her brain from replaying that scene from outside. She had nothing personal against Kiko. From all that she could tell, Kiko was a perfectly fine human being. But Jiyong was obviously unhappy. It showed through in his lyrics, it was written all over his face, could be seen in his posture when the cameras weren't rolling. Kiko might not have been making him unhappy, but the relationship sure was.

Not that it was any of Sarang’s business.

* * * * *

           Sarang finished dressing for the stage and fastened her heels. She hated dancing in heels, but it was part of the uniform. And because she was slightly shorter than the other dancers, her shoes were taller to even things out. One of the stylists walked over to her and thrust her chin up to make sure her makeup was complete. With a nod, the stylist walked away and Sarang took a deep breath. Though she was 'only' a backup dancer there were strict standards for her appearance which surprised her. Who watched the dancers?  

         It had been eight months since she joined the team and she still got nervous before every performance. Touring with Big Bang could easily be considered the highlight of her life. No one could prepare her for the immensity of the crowds and the electricity when Big Bang stepped on stage. It continuously shocked her night after night. Along with the nerves, the excitement was always present.

Tired of standing still in the small dressing room, Sarang let herself out quietly. Heading nowhere, in particular, Sarang walked down the corridor until she found a quiet corner.  She prayed for a safe and successful show for herself, and everyone involved. She did a few squats and practiced the steps she had had trouble with during practice. She was understandably tense-no, excited- but overall she felt good.

           “Stupid and immature! . . . .” she heard from farther down the hall. Sarang rolled her eyes and laughed quietly at the fact that she had stumbled into yet another argument. “You're about to go on stage. Give me the bottle, JiYong!” She heard his manager yell. Shaking her head, Sarang walked away from the sound of raised voices and went to rejoin the other dancers.

Again, none of her business.

                                                                                                                        

 

* * * * *

 

           During the concert, the dancers remarked among themselves on G-Dragon’s performance. He was all over the place; screaming randomly into the microphone, wandering around the stage, rudely interrupting the other members’ solo moments. He was a mess, but no one knew what was wrong or dared to ask. Sarang knew.

         'Crooked' had always been one of her favorite songs to dance to. It was upbeat despite the lyrics, and the choreography was fun and relatively simple. She could sail through it with little concentration, allowing her to fully enjoy being in the moment.

         But on that night, Jiyong was even wilder during the song than usual. From the start, he staggered and stumbled around the stage doing his raps. He missed large portions of the lyrics and would just stop and smile charmingly at the crowd from time to time. And because Sarang knew what was wrong with him, she felt compelled to keep an eye on him.

         During the second verse, he walked backward on the catwalk, away from the main platform. The dancers were lined up on either side of the slim stage hyping the crowd. Sarang should have been doing that too but her conscious screamed at her, so she broke from the formation to stay near to him. The other dancers shot her questioning or dirty looks, seeing that she wasn’t where she was supposed to be. She ignored them, keeping close to the secretly inebriated rapper.

         Sarang saw it coming before it happened. Jiyong had his head tipped back, screaming nonsense into the mic while spinning in circles. Closer, and closer to the edge he went. Sarang ran at him, grabbed the back of his jacket and swung him away from the edge. Still singing obliviously, Jiyong threw his arm out and pushed away the hands that touched him.

        Her heel caught on the side of the stage.  . . . . . . .There was no way to right herself; nothing to grab onto.   .

. . . . . . . So Sarang met the fate from which she had just saved Jiyong.

         Sarang could remember the feeling of weightlessness. Then the wave of intense pain as she hit something solid. She remembered nothing else after that.

 

* * * * *

 

        Jiyong finished the song and stood on the platform. With the crowd still cheering his name he sank below the stage, grinning stupidly and waving. He took a deep breath as the platform stopped and smiled as he stepped off. There was nothing like the high he got from standing on stage.

        Still immersed in that heady sensation, he didn’t immediately notice the charged atmosphere as he walked down the corridor. He passed clusters of dancers and crew members; some were crying, some were glaring at him. Looking around in confusion, his eyes landed on his manager who looked just as livid as the rest. The manager grabbed Jiyong by the collar of his shirt and roughly pulled him to a dressing room.

        “Yah, let go!”

“Do you know what you’ve done?!” his manager screamed while furiously shaking him.

           Drunk Jiyong shrugged his shoulders and took off his sweat-soaked shirt. He noted the ill-shaped neckline and frowned at it. He liked that shirt, dammit.

           He sank down into the couch and opened a bottle of water. Halfway through a gulp, his manager snatched the bottle from his hand and pushed his head until he could see an iPad on the table.

       “What’s wrong with you?!”

    “Shut up and watch.”

     Jiyong rolled his eyes but did just that. He watched himself on the stage, not really remembering how the performance had gone. He could feel the manager’s eyes burning into the side of his head and looked at him again.

          “Pay attention!” he shouted.

          Jiyong rolled his eyes again and watched as the second verse started. Everything looked normal to him until he noticed the dancer out of line. He stopped watching himself and focused on her. He saw the way she watched him, creeping close, eyes tracking his movement while still dancing. He watched himself spinning and saw the moment when she grabbed him to stop him from teetering over the edge.

          And then he watched himself push her off the stage and dance away without a backward glance.

          He gasped and held his hands over his mouth to stifle a scream. He sobered instantly. “Is . . . is she okay?”

          “She’s not dead, or at least she wasn’t when the ambulance picked her up,” the manager explained. He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. Looking at a monitor in the corner, both he and Jiyong watched as Seungri and Youngbae stood on the stage to apologize to the crowd. His limited Japanese allowed him to understand that they would be praying for the fallen dancer and that she would want them to continue to show. So they would, and Daesung’s solo stage started.

          The manager turned the TV off and silence spread thickly over the room. They could hear the cheering crowd, muted by the thick walls. Jiyong couldn’t move. Silent tears streamed down his face as a ball of anxiety and regret formed in his chest.

          He heard his manager move to the door. The other man had his hand on the knob but didn’t open it. After a few seconds, he turned back to look at the weeping star. “You need to fix this. I don’t care how but you will fix this. That girl saved your life.”

 

* * * * * 

 

          As soon as the concert was over Jiyong wanted to go to the hospital, but no one would let him. They didn’t want him to cause a scene where she was healing, so on they went to the next tour stop. They made him perform, do interviews, and smile like nothing was wrong. That wasn’t the case.

          Jiyong was guilt-ridden. He barely ate. He tortured himself watching the performance over and over again. Every time his eyes closed, he saw himself pushing her. In his dreams, it was the other way around and he was the one falling. He often woke up screaming.

          The other Big Bang members did their best to keep him encouraged. YoungBae though, always a straight shooter, chastised him first for the drinking and his general irresponsibility that led to the accident, and then for all the weeping. ‘You aren’t in the hospital, you are not injured; what are you crying about? Don’t cry, do better.’

          The dancers, who he didn’t socialize with much on a normal day, gave him the coldest of cold shoulders. They barely danced through his performances; no smiles and minimal energy. When he asked about her well-being, he was met with immediate hostility by the team leader. ‘Her name is Sarang. Not Sora.’

          And then he felt even worse.

          Finally, after three agonizing days, Jiyong overheard a group of dancers saying that Sarang had woken up. So he waited and waited until the managers had gone to their rooms for the night and snuck out of the hotel in the wee hours of the morning. He took the train from Nagoya back to Kyoto.

          As luck would have it, the night nurse in the hospital recognized him even with a hoodie, a beanie, and sunglasses on. She knew about the dancer who had fallen, so she walked Jiyong to her room for the cost of a hug and an autograph, even though it was way, way before visiting hours.

          Jiyong was scared to walk in the room, afraid of what he would see, afraid to see the damage his carelessness had caused. But he went in any way. And immediately teared up. She was covered in wrappings, braces, hard casts, and several visible bruises. He felt physically ill as he sat down in the chair beside her bed. Jiyong took hold of her uninjured hand and gripped her fingers lightly.

          “I am so sorry,” he whispered as the tears came in earnest. He tried to muffle the sobs, but was louder than he intended and woke her up. Sarang shifted uncomfortably to see who was touching her. “Hey, hey, don’t move. Sorry I woke you.”

          “Who are you?” she asked the primarily dark room.

          “Oh, um. It’s- It’s me,” Jiyong stuttered and fumbled with the light. His watery eyes met hers and they hardened in recognition. “I-I, uh, I wanted to check on you. See how you were doing.”

          “And how does it look like I’m doing?” she asked coldly.

          “I-um, uh, I--”

          “Just leave,” she ordered. When he continued to stand and stare at her, she added, “Seriously. Get out.”

          Jiyong bowed his head and stood his ground. “I owe you for what you did for me. I would have fallen if you hadn’t grabbed me--”  

          “And I wouldn’t have fallen if you hadn’t pushed me. Get. Out,” she repeated.

          Jiyong knew he deserved her anger, so he persisted. “I’m so sorry that I hurt you. It was an accident--”

           “That probably wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t drunk,” Sarang spat the words at him. When his eyes went wide, she chuckled humorlessly. “Yeah, I know.”

          “I am so--”

          “Save it, I don’t care,” Sarang cut in cruelly. She tried to adjust her position in the bed, wincing at every movement.

          “Here, let me--” he said as he moved forward to help.

          Sarang gave him a glacial scowl. “What do you not understand?! I don’t want you here! I don’t want to look at you! I don’t want your fucking pity! Just get the fuck out!”

          The machines around her started beeping loudly and Jiyong backed away with his hands up. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” And fled the room.  

          He staggered to a bench not far away, shaken by the force of her truly understandable rage. He drew his knees up to his chest and held himself tightly, rocking slowly back and forth. A nurse ran into the room he had just gone out of and he heard distinctly Sarang’s order for him to never be allowed in again.

          So he kept rocking, and praying, and thinking about how to fix the situation. He didn’t know what to do. What could he do? How was he supposed to help someone who obviously didn’t want his help?

          He wasn’t sure how long he sat there but eventually, he heard footsteps coming at him. A male doctor and an older woman came around the corner. When the woman stopped and looked into Sarang’s room, it made Jiyong sit up. The woman closed the door softly and wiped a tear from her cheek. Can it be . . . ?

          “Thank you for waiting, Mrs. Im. I’m sorry I couldn't speak to you sooner,” the doctor spoke in Korean as they sat just close enough for Jiyong to hear.     

          “It’s fine. This is what I get for not taking my Japanese lessons more seriously,” the woman replied with a dry laugh.

           “Was your flight okay?”

          “It’s a long way from Melbourne to here, but the flight crew was sweet about me crying the entire time and pacing the aisle.” It was quiet between them as she wiped her cheeks again. “So how bad is she? Please just tell me all of it.”

          The young doctor rubbed his hands together as he prepared to deliver bad news. “Because of the position she landed in, all of the damage is on her left side. Because of the force of the landing, it knocked three vertebrae in her lower back out of place. Nothing disconnected, but it was close.

          “Her leg was broken in several places. Her knee  . . . came apart entirely. We did a complete knee replacement the first night she was here. We’re going to have to replace the hip as well. It’s a ball-and-socket joint, you know?” he asked and demonstrated with his hand wrapped around his fist. The mother nodded. “The ball pushed through the socket and shattered it. We’ll need to have the part specially made because of the damage to the pelvic bone. Her left arm is broken also, and we’ll need to do surgery on her rotator cuff eventually.”

          “What does all that even mean?” her mother said with a sad laugh.

          “It means that for the next month, we’ll be doing several rounds of surgery to correct the damage done from the fall. It means that for the back and pelvis to set properly, she will have to be immobile for at least three months. It means there will be intense and torturous physical therapy when the body cast comes off. It means that she’s going to have to learn to walk again, . . . and will very likely never dance.”

          Her mother made an anguished sound and held her hands over her heart. She took a minute to compose herself. Jiyong could hear the stifled tears in her voice when she spoke again. “That’s going to be the worst part, you know. Not dancing. She’s always danced. All she’s ever wanted to do was dance. She refused to go to university in Australia and went to entertainment company auditions behind my back. Dancing was it for her; there was no backup plan.”

          “Another part of her treatment . . . “ he began hesitantly, “will be pain management. I’ve seen it happen with athletes and people who use their bodies in their careers, where depression sets in. Not being able to do the one thing they love is very hard to adjust to. It’s going to be a constant balance between managing her pain and not getting her addicted to the medication.

          “This whole process, the constant surgeries, the closing and opening of skin and muscles . . . it won’t be pleasant. It might even be unbearable at times.”

          “So what you’re saying is, my daughter has months of excruciating pain to look forward to.”

          “More like years,” he corrected slowly. “And I hate to say this, but she’s lucky to be alive. She won’t feel that way initially, but it will be true.”

          “Years? I can’t--I have a business, a husband and a young son in Melbourne. I can’t be here for that long to take care of her. And we can't afford that kind care.”

          “Conservatively, I say it’ll be three to four months before she can even leave the hospital bed. Maybe another month after that for recovery and observation. Then the physical therapy will start, and she can be moved to Australia for that.”

          “But how? How am I supposed to take care of her?” she asked herself more than the man beside her.  

          The doctor’s pager went off before he could give her any further assurances. “I’m needed in surgery. We can finish this conversation later? We can talk more at that time about the recovery process and plan for her care.”

          Her mother nodded and thanked the doctor again for taking the time to explain things to her. Not long after the doctor walked away, Jiyong watched Mrs. Im cry into her hands. When she settled a bit, he knocked softly on the wall to get her attention.

          “Yes?” she asked, both curious and annoyed.

          “I . . .” Jiyong paused to take a deep breath. “I want to help your daughter, Sarang.”

          “What do you know about my daughter?” she asks, looking at him suspiciously. Jiyong knelt down and pressed his forehead to the floor at her feet. He heard it when she gasped, but held the pose for a few seconds before sitting back on his heels. He took another breath before looking up at her. ”I am so sorry. This was all my fault.”

          Mrs. Im’s eyes narrowed as she looked down at him. “It’s you then. You’re the careless boy that pushed my daughter.”

          Jiyong bowed again, partially to hide his eyes that were near to tears again. “It was an accident, I swear. I thought it was part of the choreography and I didn’t realize we were so close to the edge. I am sorry. I am truly sorry. I want to make this right.”

          She glared at him, scanning him up and down, trying to gauge his sincerity. “How?”

 

* * * * * 

 

          One day bled into the next for Sarang. Time became meaningless. For five months she was tethered to a bed with nice but impersonal nurses, TV she couldn't fully understand, and occasional visitors to occupy her time. She ate meals that she didn’t remember tasting. She slept, or she stared at the wall, or she was in pain and wished she was asleep. The whole experience was a painfilled and depressing blur.

          Her mother visited monthly for two or three days at a time. The police came to visit and asked if she wanted to press charges. She told them no.  A few YG dancers stopped in, which she had mixed feelings about. She was on the team, but they never made her feel like a part of the team. After being passed over so many times for minor mistakes, she didn’t trust them. A few she outright disliked because they had made her life hell in general. But she was polite enough when they were there. Any company beat no company.

          The most surprising visit was when YG himself came to check on her. He vowed to pay for all of her medical expenses and continued care. He also slyly asked if she was planning on suing the company or Jiyong directly. She had no such plans. Once she said that he offered her an obscenely large sum of money as a settlement. She agreed.

          On the day of her release, her mother was with her. Sarang expected to go home to Melbourne with her family but instead, they flew to Korea. Upon arrival, two large men in a luxurious black van, equipped to carry a wheelchair, picked them up from the airport. Sarang’s pain medication kicked in not long after the ride started, so she had no idea where they were headed. Nor did she particularly care.

The next time she woke, she was in an elevator going up with just the two men. “Where’s my mom?”

          Neither man responded. At the 17th floor of some anonymous building, they pushed her chair to the end of the hall and knocked loudly on a door. Kwon Jiyong answered it.

          “Please, come in,” he spoke politely and gave room for them to enter.

          “No,” Sarang said with a voice filled with venom. She put her good hand down to stop the wheels from moving. “I’m not going in there. Where’s my mom?” she asked again.

          “Your mom will be up in a little while. She wanted to get some things to make dinner tonight,” Jiyong explained quietly.

          “This has to be a joke,” she replied with a snort. She knew in her gut that it wasn't though. Her mother had been unusually tight-lipped about what would happen to her. Now she understood why. “Unbelievable.”

          “I’ll take it from here,” Jiyong told the men and took his position behind the wheelchair. After bowing to the men, Jiyong pushed her around his well-appointed apartment for a tour. Sarang never said a word.

          “This will be your bedroom, the master bedroom. I put in one of those adjustable beds so that you can rest comfortably. And this is the bathroom. I had rails installed to keep you stable while you move around. You can go right into the shower in your wheelchair. That long string is a panic button in case you need help,” he explained. “It will ring inside the apartment first and if no one responds in a minute, an ambulance will be called.”

          He parked her at the foot of the bed and sat in one of the chairs nearby. “My mom and sister are going to make sure you have meals and help you with dressing and stuff. You have physical therapy every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. I’ll take you whenever I can. I’ll help you however I can.” Jiyong waited for her to speak, but again, she said nothing. Just looked out the window to the park below. “I’ll  . . . go. Call out if you need anything. I’ll be in the living room.”

          Jiyong had just opened the door when she finally spoke.

          “When can I leave?” she asked, still not looking at him.

          “When you can walk out of here,” he responded with a short bow of his head and closed the door behind him.

* * * * * 


	2. Two

Jiyong sat in a meeting, listening with half an ear to the others talk about merchandise sales, ticket prices, and other things he couldn’t be bothered to care about. His body was present, but his heart and mind were in his apartment with the girl who seldom left her room or spoke. Even when her family came to visit, she remained stoic. Her father hated him, her brother was awed by him, but at least her mother was grateful and supportive.

He tried so hard to connect with Sarang, to draw her out of her self-imposed shell. But even after three months, she still looked at him with dead eyes when he spoke to her and seldom spoke back. The only thing he seemed to have done right was buy her a laptop. For that, he received a softly uttered ‘thank you’.

He was brought back to the present by the sound of sliding chairs. The meeting was over and he hadn’t learned or contributed a thing. On his way out, YG stopped him to ask if everything was alright. To that Jiyong could only shrug and say he was working on it.

But then he experienced another moment of divine intervention. As Jiyong walked past one of the practice rooms, he heard an uproar of laughter. When he peeked in, he saw everyone’s favorite maknae telling an outlandish story to entertain them. At that moment, Jiyong knew what to do. He hung at the back of the room until the story was over and waved his hand to get Seungri’s attention. He led him to another room and cut to the chase. “I need your help.”

“Sure, hyung. Is a song giving you trouble?” Seungri asked and sat down.

Jiyong shook his head and remained standing. “I need you to befriend a girl.”

Seungri smirked rakishly. “It would be my pleasure.”

Jiyong shook his head again. “No, no. Not like that. It’s Sarang, the dancer that  . . . fell.”

“I thought she was back home with family?”

“No, she’s . . . she’s with me,” Jiyong disclosed while pacing. “I talked to her mom while she was in the hospital. She needed more care than her family could give her, so I moved her into my apartment.”

Seungri blinked slowly before speaking. “Hyung, that’s insane.”

“I know!” Jiyong cried and ran his fingers through his hair. “I just . . . I have to fix this with her. I caused this, I did this to her. Maknae, it’s heartbreaking. She lays there in the dark all day. She only leaves the room for therapy. She won’t talk to anyone, not even her family really. She barely eats. I’m worried about her all the time. I’m terrified that I’ll come home and--” he cut himself off and dropped his head. Seungri could tell where the sentence was headed.

“Have you tried talking to her?” Seungri asked sympathetically.

“She hates me, maknae. That’s not an exaggeration. She hates me and I completely understand why because I hate myself.” Jiyong sat down heavily and rubbed his hands over his face. He looked at his friend squarely in the eye. “Seunghyun-ah, you’re the friendliest person I know. If you can’t get through to her, I’m afraid no one can.”

Seungri soaked in what he heard and eventually nodded. “What do you want me to do?”

“No fucking clue,” Jiyong admitted with a humorless laugh. “Just, I don’t know, talk to her. Get to know her, be a friend. Maybe she’ll open up to you.”

The younger man slapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll try my best, hyung.”

 

* * * * * 

 

When Jiyong got home that night, the first thing he heard was the too familiar hyena-like laugh of his bandmate. Laced with that was another laugh that he had never heard before. He followed the sound to the master bedroom and looked inside.

Seungri sat on the bed, legs crossed with a plate on his lap. Sarang was sitting up with the aid of the bed, a soda can in her hand. A box of fried chicken lay between them as they laughed at the TV screen. Seungri caught Jiyong’s movement from the corner of his eye and waved him in.

“Hyung! Come in, we’re just getting to the best part.” Seungri moved closer to Sarang and patted the bed for Jiyong to sit down. When Jiyong didn’t move fast enough, Seungri grabbed his hand and pulled him down. “Did you eat? We bought chicken. It’s her favorite.” And thrust the box at him along with some napkins. “Sarang-ie, can you pass me a drink?"

Looking at him warily, it took a few seconds before she moved. Seungri handed it over to Jiyong without looking at him and continued to watch. “You’ve seen The Good, The Bad, The Weird, right hyung?”

“A few times,” Jiyong answered quietly.

“Sarang hasn’t, can you believe that? I thought everyone had seen it. Well, she’s not from Korea, maybe that’s why.”

“I was born here,” she corrected, “but we moved to Melbourne when I was five.”

“She used to have a family of koalas living in the trees in her apartment complex. Isn’t that so cool?”

“Yah! She’s never going to see the movie if you keep talking. Shut up.”

Seungri placed his hands on his heart, looking wounded. “You see how he treats me?”

“He’s right. Shut up,” she replied with a small laugh and no sympathy.

Seungri gasped dramatically. “You would take his side? After I bought you chicken?”

“You’re such a baby,” she joked.

“He really is,” Jiyong agreed.

“I guess I’ll just sit here and say nothing,” he pouted playfully.

“That’s probably a good idea,” Jiyong commented with a grin.

“Aish, I’ll roll it back since someone couldn’t be quiet,” she mumbled while reaching for the remote. When it got back to the part that she remembered, she started again. It was quiet in the room for mere seconds before they all laughed at the antics on screen.

Jiyong was awed. In a matter of hours, his friend had managed what he had not in months. Seungri controlled the situation and made her his friend by sheer force of will. Jiyong learned more about her since walking in the room than he had since she came into his home. Every time she laughed, his heart felt a little lighter.

Not wanting to draw attention, Jiyong slid his hand across the bed until it brushed against Seungri’s. Without looking away from the screen, he squeezed. Seungri smiled brightly and squeezed back.

 

* * * * *  

 

There was no question that Seungri was good for her. She helped him with English and they practiced Japanese together. She had picked up quite a bit of the language while laying in the hospital bed there. He took her to PT and relentlessly encouraged her. He made her smile even when the pain brought tears to her eyes. He pushed her and offered kisses as rewards that she didn’t always turn down.

Also thanks to him, she became a gaming wiz. She hadn't played video games much before, but since she had an abundance of time to practice, she excelled at it. Often Jiyong would come home to find the two of them stretched out on the bed screaming at one another and the TV until the wee hours of the morning. Due to these late night gaming binges, it stopped being odd to have Seungri eat and shower there. Like another roommate.

When Big Bang went back on tour, Seungri took lots of pictures to send to her and could be frequently seen talking to her via Facetime. He called her from the stage at the end of the first show, but that didn’t go well. Jiyong watched Seungri frown at his phone and run to the back. Wondering what was wrong, Jiyong waved absently at the crowd and followed. He found Seungri in a dressing room and listened from a short distance away.

“ . . . such an idiot. I didn’t think. I’m so sorry, Sarang-ah,” he apologized sincerely.

She wiped her embarrassingly wet cheeks. “It’s okay. I’m just being sensitive.”  

“No, no. I should have realized seeing that would be hard for you,” he replied sadly. “That was thoughtless of me.”

“It’s okay. Really,” she assured him. “Go back out there. Your fans are probably speculating about why you ran off like that.”

“Arraseo. But I’ll call you later?”

“Nah, I’m going to bed. My body hurts.”

“Ok. Take a hot shower and think of me!” he flirted with a waggle of his brows.

From where he was standing, Jiyong could see Sarang roll her eyes before the screen went black.

“You’re good to her,” Jiyong spoke. Seungri jumped a little, not realizing he was being watched.

“She’s easy to be good to,” the younger responded with a tender grin. He gestured to the door and the two of them set out to do final bows. “I messed up tonight. I hope she’s okay.”

“What do you mean?”

“The stage,” he said by way of explanation. When Jiyong looked at him in confusion, he elaborated, ”She has nightmares about falling. Not as often anymore, she said it used to be worse, but I’m sure showing her the stage she fell from won’t help. Fuck, I hate that she’s alone tonight.”

“Ah,” Jiyong responded, not sure what to say in the face of Seungri’s worried expression.

 “She’ll be fine. She knows she can call me if she has one. I’ve gotten pretty good at talking her down.” The younger clapped his hands together, took a deep breath, and put on a happy face. “Come on, hyung. Let’s go!”

Jiyong stood for a moment, watching his friends’ retreating back. He felt something in his chest that reminded him vaguely of jealousy.

 

* * * * * 

 

What changed subtly as the months went by was how Sarang treated Jiyong. She no longer ignored him outright, but she never made a point to speak to him. He tested the boundaries by coming to her room at night to watch whatever she had on. He would ask about her day and told her things about his. She never asked for his company, but she didn’t tell him to stop or leave either. He still didn’t know how to reach her and it tore at him.

One day he was sitting in the studio, headphones on while throwing a rubber ball repeatedly at the wall and catching it. He was lost in thought when the ball was snatched from the air. He looked up to see Youngbae looking down at him. His best friend knocked the headphones off and sat next to him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked without preamble.

“I was just thinking about Sarang,” he admitted with a sigh. Youngbae nodded his head in acknowledgment. It took a few months, but Jiyong finally told the rest of the Big Bang members about her living with him. There were mixed reactions. “It’s been six months and she’s still . . . cold. No matter what I do, she just won’t open up to me.”

“Well, you can’t realistically expect her to be your best friend after what happened.”

“I don’t expect that.”

“What do you expect?” his best friend pushed.

“I don’t expect anything, but I hope one day she’ll forgive me,” Jiyong confessed. “She saved my life, hyung, and I’ve done everything that I can to make this right. I did major construction on my house to make it comfortable and safe for her. I try to spend time with her, I take her to appointments, my mother cooks her meals, I enlisted maknae’s help so she’d have at least one friend. I don’t know what else she wants.”

“Have you apologized?”

“I tried,” Jiyong admitted and a helpless gesture.

“When?”

“Well, the first time was at the hospital, and she told me to get out. Loudly, and repeatedly. I’ve said I was sorry a million times since she moved in. She just looks at me like she wants to scratch my eyes out.”

Youngbae sat back and toyed with the ring on the finger. “Maybe she wasn’t ready to hear it then. One bad move stole her future and career. She has every right to be mad,” he replied reasonably. He added quietly, more to himself, “She was a very talented dancer. It’s a shame.”

Jiyong scoffed and rubbed his face. “Wanna hear something fucked up? I don’t even remember her. I didn’t know her name! I don’t remember seeing her around at all, let alone seeing her dance.”

“That’s because you’ve never mingled with ‘the help’.” Jiyong opened his mouth to protest, but Youngbae cut him off with a wave of his hand. “It’s true and you know it.” Jiyong slouched, knowing there was no cause to argue. “Maybe you need some context,” Youngbae said as he stood. He played around with one of the computers for a few moments before waving Jiyong over. “Here. The practice rooms the dancers use have motion sensor cameras and the team leaders keep track of progress. This is her file.”

He started with her audition tape. He watched a younger Sarang explain that she was a trained ballerina, but wanted to branch out. She danced to “Pump It’ with sharp movements and ridiculous energy. She was good. Very good.

Even after Youngbae left, Jiyong stayed and watched video after video of her dancing. He liked the freestyle to ‘Naughty Girl’ she did with the Kwon Twins as props. She slithered and ground her body against them in a sexy manner, then fell to the floor; fanning her face and laughing in embarrassment. He watched her dance with Minzy and Chaelin in a flawless cover of “Single Ladies’, with Team B during practices, working one on one with trainees. One clip was of her and Youngbae dancing sensually to Usher’s “Nice and Slow”. A different one showed her practicing spins when the door flew open and someone screamed bloody murder. Sarang lost her concentration and fell while the people at the door laughed. After wincing and flexing her ankle for a bit, she limped out of the room. He wished he could have seen their faces.

His favorites were the ones of her dancing on her own in the room. Just moving with no choreography, ballet style. She was sensational. He was entranced by her facial expressions. They switched moment to moment from looks of stern concentration to pure enjoyment. He could tell that she truly enjoyed dancing, that she felt the music all over.

When he had enough, he loaded a few onto his thumb drive and went home. He went straight to her room and knocked softly. He entered when she told him to.

“You have a minute?”

She raised a brow and threw down her controller. “Not like I’m going anywhere,” she replied snarkily.  

Jiyong went to the TV and stuck his thumb drive into the side. He messed with the remote until he was able to play for her a video of herself in pale pink and grey flowing clothes, ballet shoes on her feet. Sarang watched herself dance across the floor in graceful, practiced movements to some classical piece.

She felt the bed dip when Jiyong sat down, but her eyes were transfixed to the television. She had never seen that particular practice session and it brought a tear to her eye.

“Turn it off,” she whispered. Her breath hitched, she cleared her throat and repeated herself. “Turn it off!”

Jiyong rushed to comply. He looked over at her, her face was turned away. He could see the wetness on her cheeks and hear the change in her breathing. Reaching out, Jiyong gripped her chin and pulled until her eyes met him. “I’m sorry, Sarang-ah. So sorry that I took this from you.”

Sarang looked him in the eyes and for the first time, she believed him. She saw that he finally understood. His apology was no longer in expectation of forgiveness, but a genuine expression of guilt.

The tension she had been holding in her posture every time he was near dissipated. She closed the distance between them and rested her head on his shoulder. He held her, and they cried together over what she had lost.

 

* * * * * 


	3. THREE

    It took fourteen months of therapy for Sarang to be able to stand on her own. No harness, no walker, no bars; just her own two feet. Seungri was with her when it happened and he made the hugest deal out of it. She waved off the accomplishment, pointed out that she was just standing, not walking. It made little difference to him. He sent photos and a video to Jiyong with an excessive amount of exclamation points. Jiyong forwarded the images to Sarang’s mother. She called, tearful as she thanked him.

That night, Seungri organized a three-person party to celebrate her achievement. There was enough food to feed twenty people, and a cake with a pair of ballet shoes on top. When Sarang said it wasn’t funny, Seungri kissed her cheek and told her to think of it as a goal to aspire to.

Music played through the speakers while they sat together in the living room talking. Every so often, Seungri would stand and coax her do the same-- just because. A slow song came on during one of these random stand-ups as Seungri’s phone went off. Fumbling with his device, he let her go. “Hyung. Take over? I need to take this.”

Jiyong had just grabbed her hand when Seungri ran out of the room. Jiyong felt her wobble and reached to hold her securely against his chest. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she answered in a small voice. Jiyong adjusted his stance and wrapped her arm around his neck. He wrapped his arms around her waist. She couldn’t move her feet, but she swayed along with him. It took a few more seconds for it to occur to Sarang that she was dancing. Dancing.  When the song ended, she looked at Jiyong pleadingly, “One more?”

“Sure, sure,” Jiyong said in a rushed manner. He held her hand with one of his and used the other to tap at the iPad until an old Otis Redding tune played. Taking her back into his arms, they swayed together, lost in the music. His cheek was pressed to her hair, her fingers absently toyed with the collar of his shirt. As the song ended, Jiyong pulled away and their eyes met. And held. They had a moment. A handful of seconds where they saw only each other and the rest of the world faded out.

“People ask such stupid questions,” Seungri stated as he walked back into the room, snapping them both back to reality. Sarang dropped her arms, tried to step back from Jiyong and nearly collapsed. Both men reached for her, she purposely turned her body towards Seungri. “Alright then, beautiful. That’s enough for one night.”

Sarang chuckled breathily and nodded. “Yeah, I think so. My leg hurts.”

“Want to go down to the hot tub?” Seungri offered with a worried expression.

“Yes,” she answered sincerely as if he had never had such a good idea before.

Seungri nodded and backed up. “I’ll get your chair. Hyung, hold on to her, okay? But not too tight,” he jokes lamely.

“Yah, just go,” Jiyong replied impatiently.

They could hear Seungri laughing as he walked away. They stood together, holding one another in a way that was suddenly too intimate. They looked anywhere but at each other and didn’t speak a word while they waited.

“I grabbed your swimsuit. Do you want to change up here or down there?”

“Down there,” Sarang replied in a rush. She let out a relieved breath when she sat in the wheelchair and immediately pushed herself towards the door.

“She must really be hurting,” Seungri mumbled, brow creased with concern. He turned to his friend and punch him lightly on the arm. “We’ll be in the gym if you need us, hyung.” Jiyong nodded absently as he walked away. He watched Seungri open the door for her, and her zip off as soon as she was clear. “Hey! Wait up!”

Sarang didn’t slow down. She wanted, no, needed to be away from Jiyong and, and . . . whatever the hell that was.

 

* * * * *

 

She was more excited than she had been in a long time. Sarang couldn’t seem to sit still for more than a few seconds at a time. Filled with a nervous energy she switched out numerous pairs of earrings, trying to decide which ones would look best with her new dress. She had ordered it online just hours after Seungri called her to say, “Dress pretty on Friday. I’m taking you out. Refusal is not an option!”

    Out as in not to a doctor appointment or to some therapy session, but out among people just for the pleasure of being out. Initially, she had declined. She had been declining his offers to go out for months, always finding some excuse for why she’d rather stay in. The truth was clear to them all though; she didn’t want to be stared at. Her walker and slow pace drew the attention of unwanted eyes. But Seungri wouldn’t take no for an answer and he wasn’t above nagging. Even she had to acknowledge that she had been cooped up too long.

    He was supposed to be picking her up at 7 pm, so she kept one eye on the clock at all times. At 6:15 when her phone rang, Sarang smiled brightly as she answered.

    “Hey Ri-yah!” she breathed excitedly.

    “Sarang-ah . . . I’m sorry,” Seungri replied as soon as she spoke. “I’m stuck in a meeting with some investors. I tried so hard to speed it up, but I can’t skip out on this. I’m sorry, I am so, so sorry but I can’t make it tonight.”

    Intense disappointment hit her like a blow to the stomach. Sarang sank slowly onto the edge of the bed. “I understand,” she replied with deceptive brightness in her voice.

    “Please, believe me, this wasn’t the plan. You know I wouldn’t do this lightly. Sajangnim was supposed to come, but his daughter is sick and--”

    “It’s fine, Ri. Really, I understand,” she said soothingly.

    “I’ll make this up to you, I promise. Please, please, please let me make this up to you.”

    “Okay,” Sarang replied.

Neither of them spoke for a while, but then she heard Seungri sigh. “I’m going to power my phone down, okay? I need to concentrate.”

    “Okay.”

    “I’ll call you in the morning.”

    “Okay.”

    “Can we have lunch?”

    “Okay.”

    “Were you all dressed up?”

    “Yes.”

    “I bet you look pretty. Send me a pic?” he asked flirtatiously.

    Sarang chuckled. The boy was incorrigible. “Maybe,” she teased.

    He didn’t respond for another few seconds. “Are you mad at me?”

    “No,” she replied honestly. “I am disappointed, but I know it’s not your fault.”

    “Arraseo.” In the background, she heard someone call his name. “I have to go back in. I’ll call you later.”

    “Bye Ri-yah.”

    She looked at the phone for several seconds before setting it down gently beside her.

 

* * * * * 

 

Jiyong to Maknae

 

6:32 pm: Yah. Where are you?

6:37 pm: Do you not see what time it is?

6:41 pm: You better be on your way!

6:46 pm: She’s been getting ready for hours. Where are you?!

6:50 pm: Pick up your phone maknae!

6:52 pm: You can’t do this to her. Do you understand me?

6:52 pm: You can treat other girls like this, but not her.

6:55 pm: If you stand her up, I WILL KILL YOU!

6:57 pm: If you don’t walk in this door in three minutes I will have you kicked out of the group. I’ll spread rumors so vile the fans will demand you get removed.

6:58 pm: No, no rumors. I’ll just tell the truth about you and ‘accidentally’ post pictures I have on my phone.

6:59 pm: I’m not fucking joking Lee Seunghyun!!

….

….

….

7:15 pm: You’re going to die.

 

* * * * * 

 

Sarang looked up when she heard a knock on the door. She turned away from the window and called softly, “Come in.”

Jiyong poked his head in first, then walked in. His eyes traveled briefly up and down her body noting how pretty she looking in the plum colored dress. He cleared his throat and held onto the doorknob to hide his tension. “Maknae, uh, he’s tied up with something but says he’ll try to meet you at the restaurant. He asked me to take you since he can’t pick you up.”

    A look of confusion crossed her face. “He said that?” Jiyong nodded. “When did you talk to him?”

    “Not all that long ago,” he replied vaguely.

Sarang opened her mouth to contradict him but stopped when she got a good look at him.

If nothing else, she knew that Kwon Jiyong was meticulous in the way he dressed. It may look slapped together and effortless to many, but she knew how long it took, even when he ‘dressed down’. So when she noticed that the collar of his blazer was upturned and his shirt was partially untucked, she knew that he had gotten dressed in a hurry. And he was fidgeting.

    He’s lying, she thought.

One side of her was angry. Sarang knew there was no way Jiyong knew about her conversation with Seungri. He didn’t know that she knew Seungri couldn’t make it. The other side of her rationalized that Jiyong was covering for his friend and trying to spare her feelings in case she had been stood up. She respected him for that.

Choosing to not argue about it, Sarang nodded her head and smoothed her dress. “I’ll grab my purse.”

 

* * * * *

 

Jiyong had his star status to thank for the last minute reservation he was able to secure while she finished getting ready. He drove to the restaurant in the nondescript black SUV he often borrowed from YG’s fleet. He cursed softly when he pulled up to the valet and saw people milling with cameras outside.

“I’m sorry. There isn’t a side entrance here,” he said sheepishly. He cursed himself for not calling a manager or security.

“It’s okay,” she returned with a tight smile.

“Do you want your walker? Or, you can just hold onto my arm.”

Sarang looked out at the gathering crowd and shook her head. “I think the walker would be better. Hopefully, they’re well mannered enough to not mob a crippled woman.”

Jiyong nodded, slipped on sunglasses, took a deep breath and got out of the car. Lights flashed and people screamed his name. He handed the keys over to the valet and rushed around the car to get the walker from the back. Person after person vied for his attention, but he ignored them all. Carefully, he set up the apparatus and helped Sarang down.

Thankfully Sarang was right. While the media types yelled questions at them and took pictures, they made room for her to walk unimpeded to the front door. Once there, Jiyong bowed to the onlookers and ushered her inside.

The wide-eyed hostess offered them a private room, but Jiyong shook his head. “A woman this beautiful deserves to be admired by as many eyes as possible,” he replied smoothly.

Sarang snorted.

 

* * * * * 

 

During dessert, Jiyong stepped away to take a call from his understandably irate manager. Seconds later, two college-aged girls approached the table.

“You’re Cha Sarang, right? The YG dancer who fell?” One of the girls asked hesitantly. When Sarang nodded, both girls smiled sympathetically. “We were at that concert. I’ll never forget that moment. We were so scared for you.”

“Thank you for your concern,” Sarang replied sincerely.

“Are you alright?” the other girl asked softly.

Sarang shrugged a shoulder. “For the most part, yes. I broke a lot of bones, had a lot of surgeries. I don’t feel great every day, but I know it could have been worse. I’m thankful that it wasn’t.”

    Both girls nodded in understanding. One looked at the other before saying, “I see that you’re here with GD-ssi. Don’t you hate him for what he did?”

    “I did. Very much and for a very long time,” she answered them honestly. “But . . . not any more. It was an accident, I recognize that. It’s not like he got on stage that night with the intention to hurt me. He’s tried to make things right and I respect that. I forgive him.”

    “Wah, unnie. You’re so cool,” the taller one told her and it made Sarang laugh. She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up to see Jiyong standing over her. He bowed to the girls, the girls bowed to him before saying their goodbyes and moving away.

    “Hyung’s here. Ready to go?” he asked politely. Sarang rushed to eat the last bite of her key lime pie before nodding. He helped her to stand and matched her pace to the door. His manager, along with a security guard, escorted them to the waiting SUV. He helped her inside carefully before sliding in beside her. The two of them looked out of opposite windows for the majority of the ride. Sarang slid her hand across the seat at a stop light and grabbed his hand.

“If I didn't say it, thank you. I had a great time tonight.”

“It was my pleasure,” Jiyong replied with a shy smile.

He could have let go of her hand after that, she could have let go of him. There was a moment where they looked at their joined hands . . . but neither pulled away.

 

* * * * * 

 

Sarang could not imagine anything more uncomfortable than being stuck in the house with two often-feuding people.

Kiko didn’t come to visit much, Jiyong typically went to her. But when she did, the entire atmosphere of the apartment changed. She wasn’t openly hostile to Sarang, but her displeasure with the situation was obvious. She didn’t want her there. She didn’t like another woman having that much access to Jiyong, let alone living with him. She was never blatantly rude, but comments such as ‘Ah, you’re moving around so well. You should be out of here any day now!’ were hard to misinterpret--even when accompanied by her beatific smile. Sarang did her best to stay out of her way.

Sometimes Sarang couldn’t come out of the room due to the obvious sounds of them making love. Other times, she wouldn’t come out due to the obvious sounds of them fighting. She made a point to not listen to either scenario and kept headphones at the ready.

During one of these visits, the tension became unbearable. Those were the only times Sarang got excited to go to PT, just to get away from them. Jiyong wasn’t there when she got home, but Kiko was. The model lounged on the couch in minimal clothing, playing on her phone. When Sarang shuffled in with her cane, Kiko glanced at her for a moment but shifted her eyes back to the phone; completely uninterested. Sarang went straight to her room.

Jiyong’s arrival shortly after hers was heralded by a few moments of peace, and then another screaming match commenced. Sarang shook her head and went to the shower. When she came out, she could hear Kiko screeching that Jiyong was a liar, and also hear Jiyong calling her paranoid. Sarang put her headphones on and watched an action movie on her computer.     

It was the slamming of the door that let Sarang know this round of fighting was finally over. Even with her ever-present headphones on, she heard the bang and felt the walls shake around her. She jerked and the ear pieces fell out. The silence that followed was a welcome change. Sarang lay back against her pillows and breathed heavily. But then she heard it; the sound of poorly muffled sobs, too deep to be Kiko’s. She listened for a minute, tempted to put the earbuds back in and tune him out. But even she couldn’t be that hard-hearted.  

    She looked around for her cane, saw it on the other side of the room, and decided to do without it. Stiffly, she got off the bed and walked carefully down the hall to his room. She walked in without knocking and saw him curled up tightly on the bed. She approached slowly, sank down on the bed and wrapped her arms around him from behind.

Startled, Jiyong looked over his shoulder quickly. The light dimmed in his eyes when he saw who had touched him. Part of him was sorry that it wasn’t Kiko, another part was relieved. He rolled over and snuggled deeper into Sarang’s hold, taking any comfort that he could get.

A while later, after the tears stopped, he continued to lay in her arms, her chin resting on the top of his head. Sarang hesitantly stroked his hair and asked softly, “Do you want to talk about it?”

He took a deep breath with the intention of answering her, but the words caught in his throat. He didn’t want to say it because voicing it would make it real, final. But the truth was the truth and there was no hiding from it. “It’s over between Kiko and me.”

    “I’m sorry to hear that,” she replied sincerely. “I know how much you love her.”

    “I do love her. I’ve loved her since the first time I heard her laugh,” he explained, then sighed. “I only date with the intention of it being serious and long term. I wanted to be with her. We were together for years,  . . . but I haven’t been in love with her for a long time, and I know it was the same for her.”

    Sarang furrowed her brow and asked, “Then why did you stay together?”

    Jiyong took a long time to respond. “Because it had to mean something, you know? All the time, the energy, the effort, the fighting, the rumors, the secrecy, the fan attacks, the traveling at all hours just to be in the same room together. It had to mean something, right?”  He asked, genuinely wanting an answer.

    Sarang didn’t have one. So she stayed silent and continued to caress his hair. She didn’t think it was her place to ask, but she did anyway. “If you really love her, are you sure you want to be done? Can’t you two work it out?”

    “No,” Jiyong answered after taking a moment to consider. “We were young when we met, we’ve since grown up and grown apart. We don’t want the same things and neither of us can bend; not one more inch. Both of us were sick of sacrificing and compromising for the sake of being in a relationship neither of us truly knew why we were in anymore.

“Somewhere in all the struggle, it stopped seeming worth it. But one of us would always come back,” he continued. Then he wiped a tear from his cheek. “There’s no coming back this time.”

    “I’m really sorry, Jiyong,” Sarang whispered, not sure what else to say.

    His hands clenched on her shirt and he spoke roughly, “I never cheated on her. Not once. Even with all the travel and ample opportunities, I never strayed.”

    His passionate and unprovoked admission took Sarang by surprise, and she believed every word. She didn’t know what to say. So she said nothing. Just held him tighter and let him cry.

 

* * * * * 


	4. FOUR

    Months later, Sarang found herself chuckling while making breakfast. There was no stopping the little bursts of laughter that overtook her from time to time.

    “It’s 8am. What could possibly be that funny?” Jiyong asked as he sat down at the table. His hair was still damp from the shower, but he was fully dressed for the day.

    Sarang glanced over at him and released another round of helpless giggles. She didn’t answer him immediately, too busy making sure the eggs weren’t overcooked. She set a plate down in front of him before sitting across from him.

    “I met your new girlfriend,” she spoke with a grin.

    Jiyong’s fork stopped on the way to his mouth. “You met who?”

     “Oh, come on. The walls aren’t that thick. I know about your ‘night visits’.” Sarang chuckled again and sipped her juice. “At first I thought you were just watching porn really loud--which would have been most inconsiderate.”  Still laughing, she looked up at his stunned expression. “I guess you didn’t tell her you had a female squatter. Or she’s the shy type. She ran out of here as soon as she saw me. Wouldn't speak a word.”

    Jiyong put his fork down and Sarang watched as his face became a lovely shade of rose. He cleared his throat twice, then reached for his drink. “You weren’t supposed to meet . . . her.”

    “Why not? It’s been months since you and Kiko broke up. There’s nothing wrong with you . . . you know. Not that it’s my place to grant you permission. Or that it’s any of my business. Just sayin’ . .  .,” she finished lamely. Jiyong gulped down his juice and used the glass to cool his heated cheeks. “So how’d you meet her? Is she a model? She’s definitely pretty enough.”

    “We were, um, set up,” he responded slowly, not making eye contact.

    “Ooo. A blind date. Cool. What’s her name?” Sarang asked between bites.

“I don’t know,” Jiyong mumbled.

Sarang swallowed quickly and raised her brows. “How do you not know your girlfriend’s name?” She noticed his tense posture. “Oooooh. Just a hookup. Understood.”

Jiyong rubbed a hand down his heated face and groaned. “Can we please change the topic?”

“But I live vicariously through you,” she pouted for all of a second. Then her eyes began to gleam with mischief. “Was she any good?”

“Please stop~”, he begged and dropped his head while she continued to laugh. “Look, I . . . the thing is . . . you see . .aish, this is embarrassing.”

    Sarang set her face into what she hoped was a concerned and sympathetic look before she asked, “You can tell me anything, I’ll never repeat it. Only person I talk to is Seungri.”

    “Well he’d know all about it anyway,” Jiyong said smartly. He groaned and breathed out heavily. “The woman you saw this morning is not my girlfriend. And I don’t know her name because names don’t matter in . . .in this . . .situation. She’s an escort.”

    Sarang sat back in her chair and absently rubbed her aching hip. “You mean to tell me that you--Kwon Jiyong, G-dragon, Leader of Big Bang, Prince of YG, the Gold and Diamond Boy--pays for sex?”

    “I pay for discretion,” he clarified. “I could get sex anywhere, that’s a well-proven fact. But going with an escort cuts out the worry of our  . . . encounter ending up in the tabloids.”

“That makes sense,” she conceded. She leaned forward with her hands clasped under her chin. She waited until he took a bite to say, “I bet a professional is worth the money. I might try it.” Sarang ran her toes up his leg and gave him a 'come hither’ look. “Know any guys with a foot fetish?”

Jiyong choked on his food and pushed the plate away.

 

* * * * *

 

As unlikely as it would seem based on their beginning, Sarang and Jiyong had become devoted friends. They spent time together at night, playing games and watching movies, at times falling asleep together. Other times, he would wear a disguise, walk with her around the park below and tell her stories no one but Big Bang members knew. Some nights they drove around looking at Seoul and listening to music.

Even though they would text throughout the day, they still had plenty to talk about when he got home. At her therapy sessions, Jiyong’s quiet encouragement meant just as much to her as Seungri’s boisterous cheering. She still needed her cane most days, but for the most part, she was mobile again.

She could move . . . and it was time to move on.

 

* * * * * 

    

Jiyong drove home from a session, acutely aware of Sarang’s somber mood. It had been a light session, they walked around in the pool for 30 minutes, so he knew she wasn’t in any significant pain. It made him worry.

“Do you want to stop and get something to eat on the way home?” he asked loud enough to get her attention.

Sarang looked over at him for a moment, then back out of the window. “That’s fine.”

“Anything in particular you want?” he questioned further.

“No. Wherever you stop is fine.”

Unease sent a chill up his spine. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Jiyong looked over at her again, seeing the vacant look in her eyes. So he pulled the car over and cut the engine. “Alright, that’s three ‘fines’ in a row. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Sarang closed her eyes, avoiding his questioning gaze. She didn’t want to talk about it. Not now, but she knew she would never get out of the car if he didn’t have answers. So she mustered her courage and looked him in the eyes. “Jiyong, it’s time.”

“For what?” he asked, glancing at his watch.

Sarang shook her head and smiled sadly. “It’s time for me to go.”

“Go where?”

“To move out, Jiyong,” she replied quietly. “It’s time for me to move on.”

He instinctively leaned against the door, putting as much distance between them as possible. It hurt Sarang, even though she expected it. The Jiyong she grew to know was soft-hearted and hated being alone. She knew that he wouldn’t take her decision well, so she stalled, waiting for the ‘right’ time to tell him. There was no such thing.

Sarang reached across the console and wrapped her pinkie around his. “Ah, you knew this day would come eventually, right? I can’t hide in your apartment forever, Jiyong. I have to face the future, figure out who I want to be when I grow up now. Dancing was all I knew and I need to explore other options.”

Jiyong wouldn’t and couldn’t look at her. Of course, he knew she would leave eventually, but . . . not so soon. If two years could be considered as ‘soon’, that is. And especially not right after losing Kiko. He relied on Sarang, he trusted her. He didn’t want her to leave, but he also knew it wasn’t his decision. He may have strong-armed her into moving in, but he knew he had no way to make her stay.  

“Will you stay close?” he asked, finally breaking his silence.

“Sorry, I can’t afford your building,” she joked.

“I mean,” he began with a sigh, “are you staying in Seoul.”

“Of course. Where else would I go?”

“Back to Melbourne?”

Sarang shook her head. “Not a chance. There's nothing for me there.”  

"Your family?"

"They're fine without me. I'd just be a burden," she replied with a shrug.

He breathed out what could be construed as a sigh of relief. “When are you going?”

“Not today or tomorrow. Probably not even next month,” she assured him with a little squeeze of his pinky. “It’ll be alright, Jiyong.”

He snorted softly but squeezed back. “Do you need help looking for a place?”

“Seungri’s helping me with that.” When he remained quiet and still, she slipped her hand under his so that their fingers were entwined. “Just think of the good stuff. You can have your room back now and take down those hideous stability bars. You can have loud sex, throw wild parties and walk around naked again. You won’t even be subjected to my sub-par cooking.”

Jiyong half smiled, not really seeing any of those things as good. All he could think about was the impending silence in his life as another person left him.

“I’m not going anywhere, Jiyong-ah. Just changing addresses,” she said as if she could read his thoughts. Sarang tugged his arm until he was close enough for her to caress his hair. “If you play your cards right, maybe I’ll give you a key.”

“Maybe?” he parroted hopefully.

“Maybe.”

 

* * * * * 

 

As ready as she had been for change, it was months before Sarang actually began the process of moving out. She did a lot of soul searching because Jiyong couldn’t stand the thought of her leaving without a plan. ‘If you don’t know what you’re going to do, you might as well stay here’, he would offer. And boy was it tempting.

But she didn’t want to stay. She wanted to move on with her life. So she spent hours online pouring over schools and course curriculums until she found a program that spoke to her. She signed up for classes to become a Mental Health Counselor specifically for people like herself, who had lost mobility after working in intensely physical fields. She wanted to do for others what she had been too stubborn to do for herself. Jiyong was enormously proud of her decision and finally, reluctantly, gave her his blessing.

The apartment Seungri found for her was fabulous. It had just enough room for one person without it feeling too big or too small. It was in what he referred to as a ‘transitioning neighborhood’. It was also way, way above her projected budget. But Seungri pushed and she trusted him. She was going to rent, but he urged her to buy. She followed his advice although it took up the majority of the money YG had settled on her. Seungri offered to loan her money, so did Jiyong, but she refused them both. They had both done more than enough for her. She just needed a job.

    Jiyong offered to find her a position within YG, but she turned it down. If she couldn’t be there as a dancer, she didn’t want to be there at all. What she found instead was a receptionist position in an office building. It wasn’t glamorous, or particularly fun, but they were accommodating to her physical limitations and the pay was decent.

    Her social circle expanded as a consequence of her new lifestyle. She had people she studied with, co-workers she occasionally drank with, but Jiyong and Seungri remained the closest to her heart. Knowing that she had worked at YG, several people asked about her relationship with any idols there, she would only smile enigmatically and change the subject.

    After nearly a year of living on her own, Sarang was well and truly settled into her new life without dancing. It wasn’t perfect, but she was happy--about most things. One thing was missing.


	5. Five

Jiyong visited Sarang the most once Seungri began spending more and more time in Japan with his various businesses ventures. Not every night, not every week, but often enough that he had custom slippers and extra clothes at the ready. He found her restful, despite the caustic sense of humor she had developed as a consequence of chronic pain. There were many times that he could have been at events networking or clubbing with friends, but he found himself driving to her house instead. She didn’t bullshit him, he didn’t need to impress her, and there were no words for how much he appreciated that. 

* * * * * 

It had been three months since he saw Sarang. They would text or call or Facetime every couple of days while he was on tour or just plain busy, but couldn’t see her. It was their longest separation since she moved in and Jiyong found he didn’t like it. He missed her. When he finally landed in Seoul, she was the first person he wanted to see. 

Jiyong: Ya. You home?  
Sarang: I’m busy.  
Jiyong: Too busy for me?!?!?  
Sarang: Yes. Goodnight.  
Jiyong: I’m on my way.  
Sarang: Can’t read? I just said I’m busy. Don’t come.  
Jiyong: Whatever.

Jiyong laid his phone on his lap in the back of the car. He briefly considered honoring her wishes and going home . . . but didn’t. He tapped on the glass and told the driver to go faster.

* * * * * 

Jiyong banged on the door with both hands, beating out a rhythm, using the doorbell as the cymbal. The door flew open suddenly and he was greeted with the sight of an irate and jaw-droppingly gorgeous Sarang. She had on perfectly applied makeup, her hair was curled, and the purple satin dress she wore hugged her body snuggly and showed an abundance of cleavage.  
   

“This is exactly why I never gave you a key,” she whispered harshly. “What are you doing here?”

 

“I missed y--!” he said loudly. 

 

She put her hand over his mouth to quiet him and pulled the door behind her until it was almost closed. “Are you crazy? I said don't come over.”  
       

Jiyong crossed his arms and observed her lazily. “Are you on a date?”   
           

“Yes, I am. Now go home.”  
       

His eyes narrowed. “You didn’t tell me you were seeing anyone.”  
   

“Because it’s none of your business,” she replied, keeping her voice low.  
   

“How long?”  
   

“Can you please just--”  
   

“Sarang?” A tall, handsome man opened the door and looked at the pair. He stood behind her protectively and rested a hand on her shoulder. “Everything okay?

 

“It’s fine, KiNam. My friend was just leaving,” she responded pointedly.  
   

Jiyong looked this KiNam person over, and a mischievous smile played on his lips that Sarang immediately didn’t trust. “Friend? Really? I’m so much more than just your friend.”

 

“Jiyong . . .” she said in a warning tone. “Please go.”

 

“Why would I go, baby?” he asked with wide, innocent eyes. “Look, I know I’ve been busy, but that doesn’t mean you can start seeing other guys. I love you.”  
   

Her eyes went wide in disbelief and she then turned to face KiNam. “Don’t listen to him. He’s trying to be funny.”  
   

Jiyong pressed himself against her back and wrapped his arms around her. He metKiNam’s eyes with a smirk. “She’s a feisty one, my Sarang. Likes to make me jealous.”  
   

KiNam took a step back. Sarang tried to walk towards him, but Jiyong tightened his hold. “This isn’t funny, Jiyong. Stop.”  
           

“This is your boyfriend?” KiNam asked. Then his eyes widened in recognition. “G-Dragon is your boyfriend?”  
           

“Yes!”

 

“No!” they replied simultaneously. 

 

Sarang took a breath and put on a charming smile. “KiNam, please. Go finish your wine while I get rid of him.”

 

“No, Kinam. You should leave,” Jiyong countered. He squeezed Sarang tighter and kissed her neck. “My baby and I have some making up to do and it’s bound to get noisy.”

 

“You son of a bitch,”she spit.

 

Jiyong gasped in feigned outrage. “How could you say that about my mother? She loves you. How much of her food have you eaten?” 

 

“I didn’t realize you were with someone,” KiNam spoke as he turned away to grab his coat.

 

“I’m not with anyone!” she cried, but KiNam continued to dress in his outerwear. Jiyong let her go at last and walked into the house. He approached the dinner table and nonchalantly ate some of the leftover food.

 

KiNam approached her and kissed her lightly on the forehead. “Let me know if you get this figured out.”

 

Sarang watched him walk away, too angry and too hurt to say anything else. When the door clicked closed, she turned to Jiyong with fire in her eyes. “You ass. You horrible, selfish, inconsiderate dick!”

 

Jiyong chuckled and poured himself a glass of wine. “Oh, come on. I saved you a headache. He was a coward. See how he ran out of here?”

 

Sarang balled her fists and screamed. “I wasn’t trying to marry him! I wanted, wanted--ah!” she broke off and turned away to take several calming breaths. 

 

“You wanted what?” Jiyong asked, seeming to finally pick up on her genuine distress. He set the glass down and walked up behind her to grab her hand. He tried to turn her around, but she wouldn’t budge. So he moved in front of her and lifted her chin. “What did you want?”

 

“I wanted someone to touch me that wasn’t a medical professional, okay?” Sarang jerked away and stepped back until she could lean against the counter. She fluffed her curls and stared at her feet. “KiNam and I work in the same building. He would flirt with me when I was sitting, and I ignored him. All the guys do that. But then he saw me walking with a cane; he carried my bookbag to the bus stop--and still flirted. 

 

“So I told him about the surgeries, about the scars and he  . . . he didn’t mind. He wanted me, still. You don't understand how hard it is to talk about the scars to someone; it's even harder to expose them. It’s been years since I’ve been with a man and I was finally ready.” Sarang pulled at her hair gently and moaned. “Then you came over and ruined everything. Thanks,” she added sarcastically. 

 

“I’m sorry,” he replied softly. Sarang scoffed. “I mean it. I’m sorry.”

 

Sarang didn’t respond. She brushed past him and sat down on the couch. He watched as she absently rubbed her left hip, eyes glued to the tv. She felt the couch dip when he sat next to her, but she continued to ignore him. Until he placed his hand on her thigh.

 

“We could . . .” he suggested.  
Sarang gave him a hard look and threw his hand off. “I’m not a pity fuck, Jiyong.”

 

“No, no. It’s not like that,” he assured her and slid even closer to her. His hand went back to her thigh, stroking lightly. When she didn’t move his hand again or back away, he took it a step further. He nuzzled her neck before speaking softly in her ear. “We’re both adults with needs, Sarang-ah. We know each other, you don't have to explain anything to me. So how about tonight, we don’t keep score, we don’t owe each other anything. Just take what we need from each other for one night.”

 

Sarang couldn’t move, she could barely breathe. She would be the worst kind of liar if she pretended that she’d never felt his pull. It was nearly unbearable towards the end of her stay in his house; when he looked in her eyes and smiled; when he would hold her to steady her; when he would cuddle against her during a movie with his easy, careless, affectionate ways. It was part of her motivation for leaving. Those moments had started occurring closer and closer together and she knew it would do her no good to fall in love with him.   
Even knowing that Sarang considered his offer. Even though she knew there was nothing but heartbreak on the other side of it, she was tempted.  . . .  . and then the pressure of his hand changed from light rubbing to rhythmic squeezing that moved higher and higher up her thigh  . . . under the skirt of her dress . . . and suddenly it didn’t seem like such a bad idea. 

 

Damn the consequences.

 

She turned her head to look at him and met his low lidded gaze. Their faces were close enough that she could feel his breath on her lips. She leaned closer, close enough that their noses bumped and foreheads touched. There was a flash where her rational brain took over. It made her pause, think again of the ramifications. Then she felt the graze of his warm lips to hers and all thoughts turned to him. 

 

Her hands on his cheeks, Sarang did her best to pull him in closer, kiss him deeper. She could feel his hands in her hair, gripping her shoulders, sliding down her back. “Are we really going to do this?” she asked breathlessly. 

 

Jiyong pressed against her and whispered, “God, I hope so.”

 

Sarang chuckled softly and rested her head on his shoulder. She took precious seconds to ask herself again if this was a good idea, to run through the potential repercussions in her head. All the reasons fell away as Jiyong comfortingly rubbed the back of her neck, looked in her eyes and placed a dulcet kiss on her lips. 

 

“One night?” she asked, just to be sure. 

 

“One night,” Jiyong affirmed. 

 

Standing up stiffly Sarang pushed her dress down with belated modesty. Jiyong stood as well and held his hand out to her. It was yet another chance for her to reconsider, to put a stop to what could only be described as madness. She knew without a shred of doubt that if she made any move in the negative he would stop. But she didn’t want to stop. So she put her hand in his and let him lead her to her bedroom. 

 

When she stepped inside, the bed suddenly looking bigger than it ever had before. The room felt smaller with his presence inside. Though he was behind her, hands rubbing up and down her bare arms, she could feel him all around her. 

 

Sarang spun in his arms suddenly, reaching for the hem of his shirt and jerking it from his jeans. In quick, efficient movements, she unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants before he could stop her hands.

 

“Hey, hey. Slow down,” he commanded soothingly. He trapped her hands between their bodies and cupped her cheeks to make her look in his eyes. “We have all night. We know what we're going to do. No need to rush, right?” When Sarang looked down and away, he dipped down to meet her gaze. “You know that this stops anytime you say, don't you?” She nodded but didn't look up. He waited, not liking the tense air around her. “Sarang, what are you thinking that you're afraid to say?”

 

She was quiet long enough that he shook her gently. “The scars... .,” she trailed off. 

 

“I love those scars, Sarang.” His whispered confession made her look up. “They are proof and a reminder that even without knowing me, you cared enough to save my life. They are the most beautiful scars in the world.” Feeling tears prickle at the back of her eyes Sarang tried to look away, but he wouldn't let her. He kissed her lingeringly and smiled gently. “I'll show you.”

 

Releasing her, Jiyong moved behind her to unzip the back of her dress. He pushed the fabric slowly down her body until it pooled at her feet. Sarang’s hands went up immediately to shield her body; the hard plastic body cast that covered her torso in particular. Jiyong covered her hands with his and pulled them down to her sides. He unfastened the straps of the cast slowly, giving her a chance to protest if she desired to. She did not.  
Jiyong removed the straps of her bra next, taking a minute to caress the scars on her shoulder with his lips. As the bra fell away he stopped Sarang before she could reach up to hide her breasts. “Don’t,” he whispered, then kissed behind her ear. She nodded jerkily and clasped her hands in front of her. 

 

Sarang heard the rustle of his clothes as he knelt behind her. She felt the kisses he placed on the scar at her lower back that caused her to shudder. His hands trailed up and down her legs before he turned her to face him. The long, thin scar on her knee was the next place he pressed his lips. He moved slowly, making sure that he reached every part of the six-inch scar. He looked up at her then, through the valley of her breasts. She watched him as he leisurely dragged her panties down her legs. Her breath caught when he leaned forward and took a deliberate breath, inhaling her scent. She thought he would kiss her there next, but he did not. The next recipient of Jiyong’s delicate caress was the scar on her hip. He tongued it purposefully before resting his forehead against her stomach. 

 

Still on his knees, Jiyong pushed Sarang back until she lay on the bed. She looked down the length of her body at him, aware for the first time that he was still entirely dressed. Before she could feel any discomfort about that fact, Jiyong spread her thighs and licked her center.

 

“Jiyong!” she gasped. Looking down, she moaned aloud at the sight of his head between her open thighs. His dark brown hair tickled low on her stomach and she felt herself arching higher, tighter against his pleasuring mouth even as she twisted on the bed to get away.

 

Hooking a leg over his shoulder, Jiyong licked her thoroughly. The taste of her on his tongue drove him mad. He couldn’t get enough of her unique flavor. Even when he felt her tugging at his hair, he didn’t let up. He knew her climax was coming and it was making her sensitive, but he was determined to push her over the edge. With a few more clever swipes and hard sucks, he did just that. Sarang stiffened as she groaned his name loudly. 

 

Jiyong kissed around her shaking thighs, taking the time to cool himself down while her orgasm subsided. He could hear her breathing heavily on the bed and even that served to turn him on more. 

 

“Jiyong?”

 

“Yeah, babe?”

 

“Get up here.” Eager to comply, Jiyong crawled above her and kissed her hungrily. Though she could taste herself on his lips, Sarang cupped his face and returned the kiss with equal passion. With his body on hers, she became aware again that he was still dressed. She tugged at his shirt. “Too many clothes.”

 

Jiyong smiled down at her before removing the article. Sarang’s eyes roamed over his tattoos before she let her hands do the same. Across his chest, down his sides along his arms and then down his stomach. Her hands rested on the fastening to his jeans for a moment, understandably nervous.

 

“We can slow this down,” Jiyong offered when he noticed her hesitation. 

 

Sarang looked up at him with a shy smile before shaking her head. “No, I want you naked, too.”

 

Jiyong rolled to the side and shimmied out of rest of his garments. When he rolled back, he pressed his body flush to hers and explored her body with his hands. Sarang did the same to him, familiarize herself with his body. The curve of his shoulders, the softness of his skin, the dip in the center of his chest, the trail of hair on his lower abdomen, all of it fascinated her. Unable to stop herself, she began to kiss and nuzzle his neck. The hands that had been caressing her back tensed at her touch. Her hands roamed, stroked, teased before moving south and landing on his rigid length. 

 

“Fuck,” he exhaled. His fingers dug into her hair as his hips lifted to thrust into her searching hands.  
Sarang played with him, explored him. Tested the feel of his skin against her palm, the weight of him, the heat. The more he hardened under her touch, the more Sarang became impatient to feel him within her. 

 

“Jiyong?” She looked up to find his eyes already locked on her. Her breath caught as she saw the desire in his eyes. “I’m ready. Very ready.”

 

Sitting up, Jiyong kissed her deeply for a moment. Sarang scooted up the bed to lay back on the pillows. From his position on the bed, his eyes roamed the length of her body again. He noticed the scars, of course, but all he saw was her beauty. 

 

“Condom?” he asked.  Sarang tapped the bedside table and Jiyong reached in the drawer to grab one. He rolled it on and took a position between her legs. And stopped. 

 

“You okay?” she queried softly, unease evident in her voice. 

 

Jiyong kissed her again as he lined himself up. “I was just thinking about what you said earlier. It’s been years, you say?” She nodded and Jiyong exhaled slowly. “Fuck. You’re gonna be so tight,” he whispered before pushing his way in. 

 

Sarang tensed at the initial thrust but relaxed when he paused. After taking a moment to get used to the feeling, she lifted her hips to let him know she was okay. Settling his weight on top of her, Jiyong sank in further. They both groaned at the feeling.

 

He started slowly, each thrust deep and deliberate. That little inhale of breath she would make when he slid in was music to his ears, so was the whimper when he pulled out. Curious to know what other sounds she would make, Jiyong wrapped her leg around his hip and moved deeper inside of her. 

 

“Oh! Shit,” Sarang moaned as her eyes popped open to see Jiyong looking down at her. Their eyes met and held. It made everything feel more vivid. The intimacy of the eye contact stunned her, made her feel raw. She tried to look away, to close her eyes, to break the contact, but he wouldn’t allow it. 

 

“Don’t look away. Stay with me,” he commanded as his pace sped up. Unable to deny him, Sarang lifted her gaze to meet his. 

 

Sarang was terrified. She could feel him everywhere and she had never experienced that before. Every time he breathed her name or swore under his breath or bit his lip, she felt a tug inside. It was too much, so Sarang pulled at his shoulders until their chests were pressed together and she could wrap her arms around him tightly. Jiyong tilted her hips just a bit and he felt her tighten further around him. It spurred him on, made him move faster, stroke harder. His hold on her grew firmer and he slammed into her relentlessly. 

 

“Please, please, please tell me you’re close,” he pleaded, forehead pressed tightly to her shoulder. 

 

“Yes!” Sarang cried. Only a few more well-placed thrusts were needed to bring her climax within reach again. When his teeth sunk into her skin and he moaned loudly, that was enough for her. “Fuck, yes!”

 

The way her body gripped him made his breath stop and his eyes roll back. With the last gasp of her name, Jiyong followed her into bliss. He held her tightly while their bodies shook together in the aftermath. Sarang absently stroked his back and made him shiver. With a breathless laugh, Jiyong rolled off of her and lay by her side. He reached around until he found her hand and pressed a sweet kiss to the back of it. 

 

The reality of what they had done washed over Sarang as she lay there. Feeling self-conscious, she rolled away and pressed her face to the pillow. When he got out of the bed, she assumed that was the end of things. Instead, he came back moments later, pressed himself against her back and pulled the covers up over them. Not knowing what to say, or if she should say anything at all, Sarang simply closed her eyes and let the sound of his breathing and the warmth of his body lull her to sleep. 

* * * * *   
    


	6. Six- FINAL

It was the feeling of something soft moving up and down her back that woke her. She looked over her shoulder to see Jiyong smiling down at her.   
   

“What are you doing?” she asked in a raspy voice.   
   

“Trying to wake you up,” he replied with a smile on his lips. His hand slid gently down her back until coming to rest on her hip. “I want you again.”  
   

Sarang chuckled into the pillow. “I thought we agreed this was a one-time thing?”  
   

“If you think back, we said ‘one night’, and the sun isn’t up yet.”  
   

She felt him come over her, his chest to her back. She also felt something poking the back of her thigh. “Are you hard?!”  
   

“Baby, I woke up like this. I was dreaming about you,” he responded with a soft chuckle of his own. Jiyong kissed her shoulder and asked, “This okay?”  
    

Sarang answered him by spreading her legs and arching her back to welcome him.

 

* * * * * 

The sound of his phone ringing woke both of them. Jiyong cursed quietly while he searched the floor for the device to answer it. Sarang couldn’t hear the entire conversation, just Jiyong repeatedly apologizing and promising that he was on the way. After the call ended, he cursed loudly and flopped down on the bed beside her.   
   

“Duty calls?” she asked quietly.   
   

Jiyong hummed and wrapped himself around her. “I forgot I had a session this morning.” He nuzzled the back of her neck and sighed. “I don’t want to go.”

“Too bad.” Sarang rolled over to face him and played with his tousled hair. “Go on before they get really mad at you.”

He grumbled and burrowed deeper under the covers into her arms. “Five more minutes.”

Sarang laughed and pushed at his shoulders. “Go on, Yong-ah. People are waiting for you.”

“I know, I know,” he replied with another heavy sigh. Unable to stop himself, he swiped a hand over her naked body before squeezing her rear. “I’m coming over tonight. Promise you’ll be just like this when I get here.”

The laughter died out of her in an instant. She moved his hand away squeezed it gently. “You know I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” he challenged. 

“One night, remember?”

“Aww, but we don’t have to--”

“Yes, we do,” she said insistently. “One night we can think back on fondly later and move on. Anything more and it gets complicated and messy. I still want to be your friend after last night.”

Jiyong’s eyes dimmed, but his smile held. He nodded his head in understanding before embracing her. “I’m going to take a quick shower and borrow a shirt.”

Sarang gave a quick ‘uh-huh’ before pulling the cover over her face and pretending to go back to sleep. 

* * * * * 

Once she was absolutely sure he was gone, Sarang threw the covers off and went to shower. A small smile played on her lips as she noted the pleasant soreness and the passion marks on her body.

She went back to her room to dress and sniffed the air. Her next order of business was stripping the sheets. On her way to the washing machine, she noticed a stack of money on the counter. It sat atop some bills with a note reading, ‘Pay these!’.

She glared down at the cash, feeling a balloon of anger swell in her chest. Without taking the time to consider if it was a good idea or not, she stuffed the money in her pocket, threw on a jacket and hailed a cab.  
   
                                                                                                                     * * * * * 

As luck would have it, Sarang ran into some dancers she knew as she arrived at the YG building. They were kind enough to let her in. She took the torturously slow elevator to the floor where she knew he would be.

She didn’t hesitate. She was so fucking mad. The ride to the YG building did nothing to cool her anger. She threw the studio door open, fire and venom shooting from her eyes.

“Sarang? What—“ Jiyong started in surprise.

“You rotten bastard!” she seethed, not even bothering to close the door behind her.

“What!? I didn’t—“

“You left money?!” she hissed. “You fucked me and left money behind?! Like I’m one of your whores!?”

Jiyong’s eyes grew large as he stood. “No! I mean, I did but it’s not like—“

Sarang pulled the cash from her pocket and threw it at him. “Fuck your money, and fuck you.”

Just as quickly as she came, she left.  
   
                                                                                                             * * * * *   
                  
Her phone rang and chimed and beeped the entire way home. She recognized the ringtones as both Jiyong's and Seungri’s, she refused to answer either. She turned her phone off entirely once she got home and went to take another much-needed shower. This time she rubbed her skin until she was red and raw all over, doing everything that she could to replace the feel of his hands on her body; to ensure no trace of his scent remained on her skin.

After she felt clean enough she tried to study, but somehow the words kept morphing into the faces he had made when he made love to her. The slack-jawed pleasure clearly etched on his face, the way his brow knit as he drove into her. She slammed the book shut with a curse. 

Listening to music offered no distraction, neither did watching TV because his face was there endorsing products. Frustrated, Sarang turned on a game. She had the headset on, intent on completing the Call of Duty mission while shit talking the guys when a familiar voice cut in. 

“Ya. LoveBug!” Seungri shouted. “I know you’re online; I can see you. Answer hyung, okay? I heard what happened. He wants to talk to you.”

Sarang watched her character die onscreen as she threw the handset down. Groaning in dismay, she threw herself back on the couch and pulled a pillow over her face and screamed long and loud. She wanted to block out everything she was thinking, everything she was feeling. 

She couldn’t even block out the sound of her doorbell ringing and someone pounding on the door. Not someone, she knew it was Jiyong. Again she was glad that she had never given him a key. 

“Sarang! Open the door and talk to me!” he yelled. “I know you’re in there!”

Rolling her eyes, Sarang reached for her headset, intent on tuning him out. Before she could put them on, she heard him threaten, “I’m going to start singing my songs as loudly as I can, Cha Sarang. I don’t care how the neighbors complain, I don’t care if the cops come. Just talk to me!”

When he was greeted with silence, he leaned back against the door, slid down to a seated position and made good on his threat. He was halfway through the chorus of ‘Heartbreaker’ when the door was thrown open. Scrambling to his feet, Jiyong walked into her house to see her limping back to the couch.

Without acknowledging his presence, she put her headset on and continued with the game. 

“You’re not even going to talk to me?” he asked.

“I’m busy,” she replied, not taking her eyes off the screen. “Jimmy, watch your 4 o’clock!” she yelled. “But you go ahead and say whatever you came to say. And then leave.”

Jiyong exhaled loudly and ran his fingers through his hair. “Please turn the game off.”

“No.”

When it became clear to him that she really wasn’t going to pause the game, Jiyong turned the TV off. 

“The fuck!” she yelled and threw down the controller. Before she could reach for the remote, Jiyong grabbed both of her hands, forced her to sit and knelt down in front of her.

“Just hear me out,” he pleaded. Sarang shook her headphones off but wouldn’t look at him. “Last night was--.”

“--a mistake,” she cut in. “A hormone-fueled, gargantuan mistake.” 

“No, last night was amazing,” he countered. “The mistake was what I did this morning. I never should have left that cash behind. I saw the bills there and wanted to help. I swear to you, the idea of paying you for sex never occurred to me. I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Your apology is acknowledged and accepted,” Sarang replied after a moment. She pulled her hands away and reached for the remote again. Jiyong stopped her hands again. 

“That’s it? Last night didn’t change anything for you?”

“Nothing was supposed to change, remember? One night to take what we need. That’s what you said, that’s what I agreed to,” she argued.

“But something did change and you know it! You felt it too,” he accused. Sarang still wouldn’t look at him, so he cupped her chin and made her. “Last night I made love to a woman who I admire and respect. A woman that I hurt greatly, but has managed to forgive me and has become one of my best friends. A woman that I have loved for longer than I care to admit. A woman that I know loves me too.” 

 

Her eyes popped open and a flush stained her cheeks. “I never said--”  
   

“You don’t have to, you never had to, but I felt it. Tell me I’m wrong,” he challenged.    
   

There was no way that she could honestly refute his claim, but she could counter with a challenge of her own. “If you knew, why didn’t you say something?”  
   

“At first I thought you were in love with Ri-yah, but it became obvious you love him like a brother. And then, by the time I was ready to admit to what I felt, you were talking about moving out and moving on. I didn’t want to hold you back,” he replied. “And, it wasn’t all that long after Kiko and I broke up. I didn’t want you to think you were a rebound.”  
   

“Oh,” she replied simply.  
   

Jiyong kissed her palm and laid it on his heart. Cheesy bastard. “I wanted to give you space to figure yourself out before I told you how I feel. But then you had that guy over here and I hated seeing you look pretty for someone else. I hated knowing that you could turn your eyes to him when I wanted you so much; that you were looking at him not knowing I was looking right back at you.”   
   

The air left Sarang’s lungs in a rush. She stared at the ceiling for long moments before dropping her eyes to meet his. She could see the sincerity shining in their dark depths. He meant it; he loved her.

Holy. Shit.  
   

“I can’t have children,” she blurted. His eyebrows drew together in confusion. “You told me you only date with the intention of long-term and serious relationships. I wanted you to know that ahead of time. With the prosthetic pelvic bone, I can’t carry a child,” she explained.

His eyes looked sad as he gripped her hands. “I knew that already, Sarang, and it doesn’t matter. It’s too soon to talk about that, but if/or when the time comes, we can get a surrogate or adopt.” Jiyong leaned up to kiss her softly. “Anything else you think should stop us from dating?”

“You’re really, really famous,” she complained. 

Jiyong chuckled as he sat on the couch beside her. He pulled her into his arms and played with her fingers. “Nothing I can do about that, sorry.”

“You’re a slob,” she stated bluntly. “And you can’t cook.”

“I’ll get a cleaning lady and take you out on plenty of dates.”

“You’re gone a lot,” Sarang said softly. Jiyong kissed the side of her neck sweetly.

“Not much I can do about that either, but you could join us on as many tour dates as you want,” he offered. “I like having you around.”

“I’m all twisted and mangled,” she countered.

“I pushed you off the stage that twisted and mangled you,” he argued. “I'd be a special kind of asshole to then hold that against you.”

Sarang found herself quickly running out of excuses to not date him. They had already lived together, she knew his faults and bad habits, and how to navigate around his occasional shitty moods. They were already friends. “Your feet stink.”

He chuckled close to her ear. “I’ll change my socks more often. Anything else?” Sarang shook her head. “Good because I love you and I can’t wait to take you on a first date.”

Sarang looked back at him, chest feeling tight as she met his eyes. “I love you too,” she replied quietly. 

He kissed her then, with all the emotions he had kept under wraps. He loved her, she loved him and that amazed him. It left him breathless. It left him speechless. So he took her back to her room to show her what he couldn't say.

Repeatedly. 

And then there was pizza. 

 

* * * *     
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you enjoyed this story. Please let me know your thoughts.

**Author's Note:**

> This will be cross-posted on AFF. Same author name.


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